


Changes

by SirLadySketch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, sort of fluffy romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLadySketch/pseuds/SirLadySketch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What were you like, before the anchor? Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your spirit?” Set a few days after the balcony scene, after Lavellan has had a chance to think about what he was asking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes

Something in her gut told Remli that she needed to speak with Solas. 

His words echoed in her thoughts, nagging her when she made herself think beyond their second kiss. And oh, what a kiss… Still, despite the delightful warmth that spread through her at the thought of his touch, his questions struck her as an odd thing to ask before confessing your love.

“What were you like, before the anchor? Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your spirit?”

She’d told him she was her own person, and she was, but still, the more she thought of her life before the fateful meeting at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the more she wondered if she’d inadvertently lied.

Here she was, living in a castle of stone, leading elves, humans, dwarves and even a few qunari. As a hunter she would go days without seeing another soul and be glad of it. She knew more now about the religions of Theddas than she had ever really even wanted to learn, and spent more time reading books and reports than reading the stars. She was wearing human shoes, for pity’s sake!

These things could be understood, she supposed, given her current situation and the responsibilities that had been thrust upon her. She’d acted with her gut instincts, and Solas seemed to have accepted them a good. Still…

“Has it affected you, changed you in any way?”

She made a fist, then opened her palm to stare at the mark of the anchor. It shifted under her gaze, like a flickering shadow caught out of the corner of an eye. When it was active, pulsing with the beat of nearby rifts to open and close, she thought she could almost make out patterns, perhaps something akin to the markings on the artifact she’d picked up. Now, though, it looked like little more than a fresh scar, the skin green where the magic seeped through.

Remli looked out the window of her room, dropping all pretense of reading the reports from Leliana’s spies. Then, she sighed, pushed back her chair, and headed down the steps of her tower to find the mage. She would get no work done like this, not until she’d spoken to him, not until she’d confessed… what? 

Well, surely speaking with him would help her get her thoughts in order.

 

As engrossed as he was in his research and the shimmering stone on his desk, he didn’t notice her slip into the room. She hesitated, worried that her intrusion might interrupt some thought that might lead to some great discovery. 

He’d been fascinated with the shards they’d been finding in their travels, trying to determine how they were connected to the doors of Solasan. He’d come up with several theories of how they might be related to the spirits of ancient elves, or perhaps recorded memories that worked as pieces of spells. They were close to gathering enough to open one of the doors, and his desk was covered in his research.

As she wavered by the door, biting her lip, he looked up, apparently sensing her at last. He smiled warmly, and she flushed.

“My heart,” he said, setting down the shard and gesturing for her to come in. She smiled at him, standing beside his desk and running a finger over the strange face etched into the stone.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she apologized, glancing up at him briefly before looking back over his notes. She rubbed her left hand absently, trying to think of how best to start. Solas watched her movements, however, and reached down to catch her hand in his.

“Your hand, is it causing you discomfort?” he asked, turning it over to study the subdued glow that emitted from her hand. She could feel his magic building in his hands, the cool healing tingle that flowed through his fingers whenever he mended their small hurts and harms. The magic in her palm pulsed in response to his, and she wondered, briefly, if it was his heartbeat.

“No, not particularly,” she admitted, although she did not shrug off the contact. Solas continued to cradle her hand in his, the promising tingle of magic fading a bit so that it was barely noticeable beneath his skin. “I’ve just been thinking about what you said, on the balcony.”

He squeezed her hand gently, and she looked up to see him smiling down at her. She flushed, unconsciously biting her lip as she thought of how easy it would be to save talking for later and just lean up to kiss him again. 

“No,” she repeated, more to herself than to him. She cleared her throat, forced herself to focus on what she’d come to do, and held up her hand between them.

“You asked me if the mark had changed me, and I told you that it hadn’t,” she said flexing her fingers, which caused the mark itself to shift and glow. His eyebrows rose, then he tilted his head to study her.

“But…?” he prompted, watching the mark in her hand as the green light rippled across her palm.

“Well, I don’t think my opinions have changed—I’ve been making the same bull-headed decisions I would have made had I not suddenly had a hole torn into my hand by magic. I’m sure if you wrote to Keeper Deshanna she would tell you the same thing,” she said, which earned her a quiet laugh. 

“Still… I’ve been trying to put my finger on it, I feel like something has changed, but I’m not sure what. I don’t know if it’s the constant proximity to magic, or the very nature of the Anchor itself, but something feels… different.”

Solas took her hand in his again, raising it to his mouth to kiss her fingers. “I studied the artifact to a great extent. It does not have the feel of corrupted magic, simply ancient, potent power. I suspect that for one unused to magic, especially such ancient magic, to suddenly have its constant presence must be alarming.”

Remli frowned. “Not… alarming. At least, not now that it’s no longer killing me. But I can feel it, even in sleep, and—“ a sudden thought broke through, and the mark flashed as if sensing her sudden insight. “I’ve been dreaming more!”

“Dreaming?’ asked Solas, his voice cool. He studied her through half-lidded eyes, although she was back to staring at the hand between them.

“I never used to dream much, except when I was at the camp with the clan. It’s too dangerous to go into a deep sleep when you’re on the hunt, and I more or less learned how to rest without going too deeply asleep. But now, I dream.” She focused back on him, smiling a little. “Very pleasant dreams, Vhenan.”

Solas frowned, briefly, and opened her hand to study the mark again.

“The anchor is tied to the Fade,” he warned, running a finger along the mark. This drew a flickering trail of light where he touched her, and sent a not-unwelcome shiver through the rest of her. Solas shifted his gaze to stare directly into her eyes.

“Vhenan, when we met, we were in the Fade. If you have had additional dreams similar to the one we shared in Haven, you open yourself to the risks of the Fade. You do not have the training of a mage, so you have not learned to guard yourself against its dangers.”

She bridged the gap between them, linking her hand in his and smiling up at him.

“Will you teach me, then?” she asked, shifting against him lightly and using her free hand to tug gently at his tunic. “Walk with me in the Fade and keep me safe from unknown dangers?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” he said, a small smirk on his face. “Although that might be a lesson best saved for somewhere private.”

 

When the Inquisitor failed to come down for lunch, there was a titter amongst the servants, and knowing glances and giggles whenever someone looked in the general direction of where the two elves had wandered off. 

When the two failed to show for dinner, however, Dorian appointed himself as best man to go in and disturb the lovebirds. He stomped his way up the steps, hoping that he’d given them enough time to make themselves somewhat decent by the time he reached the bedroom. Peeking his head through the spindles of the staircase, however, he found the Inquisitor alone at her desk. 

Magic primers were stacked to either side, as were scrolls on the nature of the Fade and the dangers of unguarded dreaming. She looked ready to jump off the balcony, but that was blockaded by a detailed render of an artist’s interpretation of how the Fade connected to the living world. Solas was nowhere to be seen.

“Solas gave me homework,” she explained, gesturing at the mountains of reading materials. “He said that since I’m so closely tied to the Fade now because of this stupid mark, I need to undergo basic Fade training and warding like a mage would.”

“Ah,” said Dorian, impressed by the foresight of the elven mage, and by Remli’s apparent acquiescence to the suggestion. He sneaked a gaze over to the untouched bed, and she sighed.

“He said I needed to focus, so he left me with these books and went to go find some more diverse views,” she sighed, looking longingly at the bed. “Not the afternoon escape into my bedroom that I’d envisioned.”

“Well,” said Dorian, chuckling a bit and coming to help her rise from the chair. “I am come to deliver you to dinner. Cook is convinced that you wasted away from starvation and, ahem, over-exertion.”

She tried to give him a withering look, but the effect was ruined by the begrudging smile. With a sigh, she closed the primer on her desk, then walked over to the pitcher and ewer to freshen up. Dorian turned to leave her to her ablutions, but paused as he started to walk down the stairs.

“Oh, and by the by,” he said, raising his head just above the stair rail, “I am glad to see that you are both using protection.” 

The wash towel hit him square in the face.


End file.
